


In Bed

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bed Sex, Disguise, Dry Humping, Frottage, Inanimate Object Porn, M/M, Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being away for a few weeks, Spy surprises his beloved Scout with his return by having a little fun with his love of disguising as inanimate objects.   In this case, it’s Scout’s bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Bed

Spy had always been a fan of using his disguise kit for mischief. Disguising as teammates and opponents for the sake of harassing friend and foe alike had always been his immature thrill. In particular, when he'd mastered the art of using his wonderful little device to disguise as inanimate objects, he'd only furthered his love of annoyance. Providing failing support as one of Medic's machines, confusing the Engineer as a non-firing sentry, or tormenting poor Sniper by making the man think he was polishing the barrel of his gun when he was really tenderly caressing the Frenchman's long legs, well, they were a childish, if hilarious point of entertainment for the easily-bored rogue.  
So when he found himself laying on the floor of Scout's room, disguised as the young man's messy, unmade bed, he found it intensely difficult to keep from snickering as his unaware lover disrobed and threw his hat onto Spy's foot.

Scout hummed quietly to himself, tugging his shirt off and dropping it next to, but not in, his hamper. His shoes found their way to the corner of the room, kicked at the wall and leaving a tan smudge from the desert dirt still caked on them. His socks soon joined his shirt, along with his pants. Spy resisted the urge to crane his head for a better look, content with quietly ogling in stillness. Scout wore a jock strap to work, concerned with keeping himself secure while running, and partially as a holdover from his days playing baseball in school. The straps that wrapped around the runner's thighs hugged the bottom of his ass perfectly, lifting the meager, slim thing into a small, round bubble of a butt that did things to Spy that would possess him of a rather lumpy mattress. He wanted to drop the ruse and do as he had done so many times before, grabbing the younger man by the strap's waist band, bending him over the dresser and using it for leverage while he pounded that perfect bottom mercilessly.

But he did not. And he was still. He hadn't gone to all of the trouble of moving Scout's bed out of the room just to give up on this. Instead, he watched. He watched as Scout stretched and leaned over to pull the jockstrap off, bent in half at the waist as if to present to his unknown observer.  
A very, very lumpy mattress.

When Scout stood again, he looked at his mirror, admiring himself. He flexed a little, smirking. “Would look better with Spy draped around me,” the American mumbled, his smirk growing into a look of mild disappointment.

Scout talked to himself often when he was alone. Repeated observation had taught Spy that. The young man felt the need to fill the silence with something, and it gave a train for his thoughts to hop onto, or so he'd once explained when caught and cornered about such behaviour.

“Hate when he's scarce like he's been. Miss him.” With a sigh, Scout pawed absently at himself, thoughts of Spy's return filling his head. He'd make it a welcome to remember. He'd throw him on the bed, lock the door, and it would be days before anyone heard from them. He'd tear off every shred of that custom-tailored suit and lick every inch of the lean Frenchman. He'd have him gasping his name, hair messy, eyes rolling back, red-faced and completely insensate with pleasure. He took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke and waken it.

Spy couldn't help but hazard a smile. He'd been so busy lately with side-work and intelligence-gathering that he'd not been on base for some time, and had even less time to spend with his lover. Now, he was done with these things, and what better way to return than with a surprise?

Scout slowly padded over to his bed, looking down at the rumpled mess of sheets and too many pillows; just how he'd left it when he'd woken up. Spy would always taunt him about not making his bed, but what did it matter? He was just going to mess it up again the next night. He flopped face-first onto the thing, a little surprised by its lack of give. It groaned a little like the wooden slats bracing the box spring were not so happy with his decision. They would hold. They always did. Certainly, he and Spy had put it through far worse. It was an old mattress, though. The springs compacting and growing uncomfortable was an inevitability. Certainly, one rather large spring was poking up awkwardly against his hip. He shifted a bit, and sighed as he accidentally ground against that spring. It made him chuckle a little, his reaction to the sensation. It had been a long, long time since he'd humped something to get himself off. His early teens, like those of many repressed Catholic boys, were full of awkward attempts to get off with a certain level of plausible deniability allowing him to avoid telling the priest at confession he'd committed the sin of masturbation. Not so fond memories, even if his own actions were hilarious in hindsight. He rolled a bit, bringing his hand back down to wrap around his now-hard length, and back onto his belly he went, positioned perfectly atop that offending spring. If he pretended, it was the bulge in Spy's pants when he pinned the taller man down and ground against him, pressing him against the bed, or the floor, or one time, the mess hall table, making him pant and plead as he denied him flesh-to-flesh contact in favor of hearing him grow more flustered. Scout began to roll his hips, grinding into his hand and against that spring like it were his Spy.

Spy's eyes rolled back in his head. This was better than he could've hoped. Looking carefully down, he watched the younger man's eyes squeezed tight, buck teeth digging into his bottom lip, his brow furrowed with effort and ecstasy as he ground down against him, drawing in short, eager breaths. His tongue snaked out to lick those lips and leaving them parted, soft groans escaping them. It was growing difficult for the Frenchman to hold still, to keep quiet, his light breaths growing longer, deeper, to try and hold steady. He bit his lip to keep silent against the assault of Scout's skilled, hurried hips rolling against his clothed, restrained erection. The runner whined, pressing his cheek to the mattress, to Spy's chest, thrusting into his warm hand and groaning out soft whispers of his lover's title.

“Spy, shit, oh fuck,” Scout whimpered, grinding hungrily against that spring, pretending they were back on that mess table on that warm, desert night, rutting away at each other where anyone could find them, uncaring of consequences, propriety, or basic food safety. How he wanted to have Spy beneath him, to feel his body, to caress it with his own. He wanted to feel the firm heat of his lover's cock against his own, to press his face against the taller man's chest and whisper his need. With a high, choked groan, he tipped over the edge, his insides fluttering as his orgasm came, spilling out into his hand and onto his sheets, leaving him shuddering and sated, his stress and longing abated for now.

When Scout felt hands on his hips, his eyes snapped open to reveal he was laying on the floor. Not on the floor, but on top of Spy, who was on the floor. Those hands, gloved and stronger than they looked, gripped him tightly, and he heard the desperate, familiar groan of his lover's climax. Spy's eyes were clamped shut, his teeth clenched, his body pitching forward to curl up against Scout as he filled his underwear with his sticky seed, though his suit was already soiled by the younger man's come. He fell back, gasping for breath, and when his eyes finally opened, he found the younger man perched atop him on his knees, his face a mixture of disbelief, disappointment, and wry amusement.

“Spy you fuck!" Any rage the younger man may have had in his tone was quickly dispelled as he captured his lover in a fierce kiss. Pulling away breathless, he couldn't help but laugh. "You disguised as my freakin' bed? This, this is why we can't have nice things!”


End file.
